And the Tables Turn
by iris129
Summary: "You know, I remember listening to them argue about who's Daddy was the strongest when they were little kids. When were the roles reversed?" Oneshot.


**I don't own Animorphs. Review!**

**And the Tables Turn**

Steve knew that it wasn't his lucky night as soon as he opened the door when the doorbell rang. After all, having your former best friend punch you in the face had never been declared an omen of good luck.

It wasn't a clean hit, mind you. It wasn't hard enough to break his nose, and it was sloppy due to the fact that Peter wasn't exactly sober. He had a beer can in his right hand, so he didn't even punch him with his good hand. Steve staggered back more from shock than from pain.

"You… You asshole!" Peter stumbled and jabbed a finger in Steve's direction. His eyes were red and puffy like if he'd been crying. "It's all your damn fault!" He let out a sob.

Steve stayed back. He had the urge to comfort his (ex?) friend, but didn't really feel like getting punched again. Besides, he didn't even know what he'd done wrong.

"What's wrong?" he asked and almost let out a bitter laugh when the words came out. Stupid question.

What wasn't wrong? Ever since his oldest son died three years ago… He shook his head. No. That was wrong. Things were wrong since his oldest son became a Controller. Since his currently-missing youngest son touched that blue cube. He'd been missing for a week now. He wasn't too worried at first, but then news came up that Marco was also missing. His nervousness rose a bit, but not by much. He was always worried about Jake. This wasn't the first time Jake went "missing". One time he was gone for two straight weeks without showing his face to the world. He probably dragged Marco along to another of his escapades this time.

He looked at Peter. Well, maybe this time it was different.

"Cassie!" Peter shouted. Steve blinked. What did Cassie have to do with anything? Actually, Cassie would create problems with Jake not Marco. Before he could ask, Peter continued. "She told me… _Your _son dragged mine off to another suicide mission into space! They're going to rescue their blue friend or something."

Steve's mind stopped working for about five seconds. "What?" he finally let out. Peter rolled his eyes. Steve noticed how he sounded more sober than he looked.

"What, are you deaf? I went to talk to Cassie today. I," he paused, "I very politely _asked _to know where my son was. She said he, the bird, and _Commander _Jake had taken off into space to rescue their little blue horse friend from God-knows-where."

Steve walked to his couch and sat down very quickly. He took a deep breath. "But they'll be back, right? They'll be fine. They're the Animorphs." He wasn't reassured. Jake was… _depressed_ after the war. But he wouldn't… He wouldn't… Not and drag Marco along. Or Tobias. He wouldn't kill them, too.

Peter laughed. It wasn't a pretty sound.

"What part of 'suicidal mission' don't you understand? Spaceship go broom broom, Marco go bye bye. Or most likely, bad spaceship go tseew tseew, Marco go bye bye." It sounded like he wanted to cry. Steve looked up.

"And Cassie told you this?"

"She didn't have to. Her silence made it clear that they weren't coming back."

Steve groaned and buried his face in his hands. No. Not again. Not again. He didn't think he could stand losing another son. _But he was already lost, _his head told him. _He was never the same again. _But no. He was alive. And while there was life there was hope. His wife had told him that when they were locked up in the Yeerk Pool's cages. She was right. Part of him felt bad for writing Jake off so easily. But if what Peter said was true… And both at the age of nineteen.

There was some seriously sick humor about that, and he found himself hating that number. It was almost as bad as the number three. The war raged on for three years. His son was a Controller for three years. Three out of four members of their families became Controllers. Multiply three and two and you get six Animorphs. Only three Animorphs prospered after the war (Ax, Marco, and Cassie). Three Animorphs were emotionally or physically destroyed (Jake, Tobias, and Rachel). They were thirteen when they became soldiers, and 13 ended in three. And now, three years between both of his sons'... partings.

But no. No. Jake was… Jake. He didn't die. How dare he give up on his son so easily?

"No," he whispered.

"What was that?" Peter asked, holding up his hand to his ear.

"No," Steve said louder. "They'll be back. Jake... Jake wouldn't let them die. My son will bring them back." He sounded more confident than he felt.

The other man laughed. "My gosh, when did you two trade places? You sound like a scared little kid saying that his dad will protect him. Open your eyes, _Steve. _Your son is nothing but a murderer. He ordered the death of his own brother. He sent his cousin to her death. He dragged my son off to another battle for what? To feel the adrenalin rush again? To cover the guilt by saving the Andalite? To feel like a hero again? A coward, really. Drag off more people to be killed for his own, selfish-" Steve slammed him against the wall and had his arm at his friend's throat in an instant. The can of beer fell and spilled all over their shoes. Screw being a pacifist.

Peter sneered. "What's the matter? Can't handle the truth?" His breath reeked of alcohol. Steve was tempted to punch him right there and then. He wanted it. To hear Peter's cry of pain and hear his nose break. He had the upper hand. The other man was drunk. He could easily win a fight. But that sounded so childish. Their sons were in some unknown part of space, and they were fighting like stupid teenagers. Jake would never… He almost laughed. God, was Peter right? WWJD? When did that turn out to mean 'What Would Jake Do'? Was this how the Animorphs felt around his son?

But he knew what Jake would do. Or at least, the post war Jake. He would give him an empty stare, and then lock himself in his room. Same as always. He removed his arm from Peter's throat. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, and talked very slowly.

"If Marco went, it's because he wanted to. Nobody forced him to. Tell me, was Marco fully satisfied with life after the war? Don't you think that fighting for his life for three years made regular life, even a celebrities' life, boring by comparison? Don't you think he was seeking an adrenalin rush, too?"

By the look on his face it was clear that he hadn't thought of that. He shoved Steve aside and walked to the couch. Three seconds later the TV turned on. Steve crouched down to pick up the fallen beer can. He needed to clean this up before his wife arrived. He'd told her to go out with her friends. She needed to get out and relax for a while. He doubted she'd do the latter, but at least she was outside of the house. He said he'd call her if Jake arrived. Obviously that wasn't happening any time soon.

A few minutes later he was sitting on the opposite side of the couch his former friend was sitting on. He honestly couldn't remember what show was on. During one of the commercials, Peter spoke up.

"You know, I remember listening to them argue about who's Daddy was the strongest when they were little kids." He laughed bitterly. "When were the roles reversed?"


End file.
